Happiness is a Trimmed Lawn
I spent the entire weekend gardening and doing yard work with Taylor- taking some pent up, unforeseen aggression out on my lawn. Weed pulling, transporting tools and soil and flowers all over the place, putting the hoe to work, bagging and cleaning and all that jazz- holy CRAP.
Curse words that were previously foreign even to ME came out of my mouth several times while yanking and tugging on stubborn bastard weeds (I learned it helps to coax them out of the ground with some tough love, like waiting at traffic lights that take too long). I don't even think some of the words I shouted at those weeds were to be considered English, but more like angry Cockney mixed with Okinawan that I didn't even know I knew.
Okinawans, which is what my mom and grandmother are, are gardeners by blood. It's what they do- and I think the spirit of some crazy Okinawan gardening ancestor came out of me this weekend. I absolutely loved it though. I became addicted.
I had no idea that gardening could be so fun and therapeutic- perhaps that's why my mom enjoys it so much. I have a whole new appreciation for a nicely manicured garden. My ass and forearms and legs are sore, my back and shoulders are burned, but damn it if I don't suddenly get the biggest kick out of my front and backyard garden beds.
It's interesting to me that, in the WASP nest neighborhood we live in (for those not familiar with the term WASP, click HERE), I've noticed that the only people outside doing yard work are teams of Hispanics. I have yet to see anyone who actually lives in the houses doing their own landscaping, besides Taylor and I.
Some people driving by even slowed down and were looking at Taylor and I funny as we huffed and puffed the weekend away in front (and later in the back) of our house.
"Is, is that a white man doing lawn work in this neighborhood? Is that man doing his own mowing? And who is that, his Asian gardener? We must get her number- maybe she's cheaper than our Mexicans."
Where I come from, homeowners take pride in their houses and the manual labor they clock in the process of beautifying them on the outside. My parents always spent, and still do spend, hours outside: with mom gardening and dad doing the dad stuff like mowing and edging and tree trimming and such. My brother and I used to have to rake and bag and help out (UGH). At the time it sucked, but now I understand how much we benefited from a hard day's work outside.
Where I live now, homeowners take pride in the fact that they can afford to pay someone to make their houses beautiful on the outside, and their kids don't do SHIT to help with any of it. Their lawns are all crazy nice and perfectly manicured, but most of those people didn't lift a finger to make them that way. I know that a lot of women in that neighborhood don't work and have nothing else to do (um, no names mentioned here, although I might or might not have an in-law in that boat...ahem....), yet the only part of the process they actually take part in is the dropping of hundreds and hundreds of dollars on flower shopping.
I was talking with a guy who works at the "Under the Sun" garden tent by our house, after an uptight little NW OKC WASP wife in front of me in line blessed him with her indifference and pretentious attitude (tapping her perfectly manicured nails on the counter impatiently I might add...seriously), and I asked him if he gets that a lot.
He told me that some of these women will pull up in their huge SUVs and lay on the horn until one of the garden people come up to the car. Then, without turning off the engine or getting out, they hand them a list of what they want, their credit card, and wait for their plants and flowers to be brought and loaded before the leave.
Of course, they don't garden themselves. They must have important brunches and shopping they can't miss. Heaven forbid they get dirt in those nails.
